Life is real, life is earnest,
And the shell is not its pen -
"Egg thou art, and egg remainest"
Was not spoken of the hen.
Life is real, life is earnest,
And the shell is not its pen -
"Egg thou art, and egg remainest"
Was not spoken of the hen.
Our brains are seventy-year clocks. The Angel of Life winds them up once for all, then closes the case, and gives the key into the hand of the Angel of the Resurrection.
It's faith in something and enthusiasm for something that makes a life worth living.
Through our great good fortune, in our youth our hearts were touched with fire. It was given to us to learn at the outset that life is a profound and passionate thing.
Our dead brothers still live for us and bid us think of life, not death -- of life to which in their youth they lent the passion and glory of Spring. As I listen, the great chorus of life and joy begins again, and amid the awful orchestra of seen and unseen powers and destinies of good and evil, our trumpets, sound once more a note of daring, hope, and will.
Give me one giddy, reeling dream
Of life all love and fame!
And hast thou cities, domes, and towers,
And life, and love that makes it dear,
And death that fills thy tribes with fear?
Fresh air is good if you do not take too much of it; most of the achievements and pleasures of life are in bad air.
There is that glorious epicurean paradox uttered by my friend the historian, in one of his flashing moments 'Give us the luxuries of life, and we will dispense with its necessaries.' To this must certainly be added that other saying of one of the wittiest of men 'Good Americans when they die go to Paris.'
Life is painting a picture, not doing a sum.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories